


Beauty and the Galra

by klance_af



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura as Lumiere, Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Angst, Coran as Cogsworth, Evil!Shiro, Fluff, Galra!Keith, Hunk as LeFou, Keith & Lance - Freeform, Keith as the Beast, Keith/Lance - Freeform, Lance & Keith - Freeform, Lance and Keith - Freeform, Lance as Belle, Lance is bisexual, Langst, M/M, Matt as Mr. Potts, Pidge as Chip, Shiro is Gaston, Shiro is bisexual, based on Beauty and the Beast, keith and lance, klance, klangst, lance/keith - Freeform, no smut sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:16:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klance_af/pseuds/klance_af
Summary: Based off of Beauty and the BeastPrince Keith turned down an elderly woman looking for shelter, not knowing that she was a powerful witch. As punishment, she turned him into a horrifying beast. The beast hid himself in his castle for many years, his only hope of being saved an enchanted rose. He must find love and be loved in return in order to turn back into a prince. But his hope has been shredded after many painful years of waiting. For who could ever love a beast?Lance lives in a tiny town. All he wants is to escape, to go somewhere, to travel. Unfortunately, his family is very poor and Lance must stay to help his father, especially since the death of his mother. When his father goes missing, Lance trails after him, searching. He finds his father trapped in a castle, help captive by a beast.  Lance trades his freedom so that his father would be let go. This beast...he should hate this beast, right? But Lance can't help to feel...sorry, you'll have to read the story to get the details.





	1. A Small Provincial Town

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, reader! This is my first fanfic, so bear with me here.  
> Just a small warning: Shiro is evil, as he is Gaston. Hunk is his sidekick. They are in no way portraying their true personalities in the show. 
> 
> I do not own Voltron, though I wish I did  
> I also do not own Beauty and the Beast! This is entirely a Beauty and the Beast AU!
> 
> I was inspired by a video edit of Keith as the beast (a Galra) and Lance as Belle.

Once upon a time...

Prince Keith sat high on his throne, laughing boisterously as he held a finely crafted gold wine glass in his hand. Noise filled the ballroom to the brim as lords and nobles chatted among themselves. The ballroom was richly adorned with gold and expensive decor. Heavy curtains lined huge glass windows, tables were set with fine utensils. The guests dressed in their finest suits and gowns, pampered with makeup and fine jewelry. Everything was decorated as expected for Prince Keith's castle.

Prince Keith was chatting loudly with a noble from a neighboring kingdom, laughing at appropriate times, wittily replying when necessary, nodding with comprehension, all as he was raised. Underneath that facade was extreme boredom. The prince had everything he desired and could get more with the snap of his fingers. He was richly spoiled, thus richly pompous and pretentious. He wanted more. More power, more wealth, more women, everything. Nothing was ever enough. His father, the King, offered him wives, horses, servants, but it was never enough.

He stared at the noble with a false image of interest as the noble suggested plans that would benefit both of their kingdoms. The lights flickered, and conversations faltered for a few moments. With a bark of laughter from the prince, conversations hesitantly continued.

The pianist and singer began a familiar tune: a waltz. Prince Keith let out an unnoticed sigh as he was expected to choose a partner to dance. He put on a spuriously joyous face and stepped down from his high throne, glancing at the women who rushed to fix their hair in hopes of being chosen. But before he could choose his partner, there was a loud knock on the French door. Silence haunted the entire room, and the knock resounded again. Servants snapped out of their haze and rushed to the door, opening it. In came an old woman, dressed in soaked rags. She was coughing, shivering from the cold, rainy night. A blast of lightning and the rumble of thunder shook the silent castle. She looked up at the prince, who stared down at her superiorly.

"P-please, Prince Keith," she began, her voice scratchy. "I am out here in the rain, and I am in need of shelter. Could you be so kind as to let me stay the night?" In her hands she held a single, magnificent rose. She extended her arms in an attempt to give it to him as a gift.

Silence came again, only broken when Prince Keith threw back his head in laughter. The others in the room took his lead and laughed along. The old woman's eyes widened and looked across the room.

"Who am I to let an old hag stay in my great castle, and for what? A rose?" He boomed, his eyes sparkling. He turned towards his servants. "Get her out. The party will continue!"

The servants reluctantly started to move towards the old woman, but stopped as the lights began to flicker uncontrollably. A gust of wind blew open doors, and the old woman straightened up. Few in the crowd screamed as chandeliers shook, things knocked off shelves, furniture collapsing, glass shattering. The old woman was surrounded by a blinding light, and was transformed into the most beautiful woman Prince Keith has ever laid his greedy eyes upon. He sank to his knees as she pointed a menacing finger at him. The princesses and nobles rushed to flee the castle, screeching in terror.

"Please, spare me!" Prince Keith pleaded. "I-I apologize, I am sorry! Please, let me live!"

But it was too late, for the witch had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who lived there.

Humiliated by his appearance, Prince Keith hid himself inside his castle. The only key to the outside world was his magic mirror. The rose she had offered was indeed an enchanted one. Prince Keith had until his twenty first year before the beautiful flower will die. If he could find love and be loved in return, then the spell would be broken. However, if he failed to complete this task by the time the last petal fell, he would remain as a beast for all of eternity. Over years of waiting, he lost all hope. For who could ever love a beast?

 

 

The sun rose over a small provincial town in France. Birds began to sing, animals bustled in the woods. It was springtime, and the cool, breezy air wafted through the town. Soon, people rose from their slumber and began their day. Merchants set out small shops, farmers counted eggs. The baker set out fresh bread, its scent drafting throughout the area. Little boys and girls chased each other around fountains and shops. Life went on as normal.

Lance casually strode into the busy marketplace, a worn out book clutched in his hands. A grin cracked at his face as he saw familiar people in the town. Lance always loved to see familiar faces. It gave him a sense of home, to let him know he wasn't completely surrounded by strangers. The baker looked up as Lance passed his shop, stumbling down the steps.

"Oh, _salut_ , Lance!" The baker paused his work with a friendly smile on his face. He glanced down at the book Lance held and chuckled. "Another book, _oui?_ How in the world do you read through them all so fast?"

Lance laughed merrily, his short brown hair moved by the wind. "Practice, _monsieur_! Oh, how I love this one! It's about an ogre and a stalk..." Lance continued ecstatically, waving his hands. The baker looked disinterested, which was unseen by Lance.

"How interesting, Lance!" He interrupted. The baker noticed a girl entering his bakery, looking at the different choices of bread. She reached to pick one up, and the baker left Lance's side to go to the girl. "Ah, Alice, an excellent choice. That will be..." His voice trailed off as he walked away. Lance looked momentarily disappointed, but his expression was quickly replaced with his usual grin as he continued his way to the small library. He frequently paused to say a quick " _salut!_ " to familiar faces.

Other men stopped, looking at lance disgustingly. "That foolish boy..." One of them said. "Always has his nose in a book! Distracted, that Lance. His head's constantly up in the clouds."

The man's friend nodded in agreement, eyes following Lance as he nearly skipped. "He'll never get a wife nor a job like that! Men work hard jobs to support their families! That scrawny boy won't get anywhere..."

A flicker of a somber expression crossed his face, but dissipated promptly as he overheard this conversation by a distance. Lance was no stranger to the snarky comments and rumors passed along the townspeople. Lance, the boy with a stupid old book, that's what they all said. Useless to this town, no worth in that distracted fool. He's heard it all. Books, they transport him away. They free him from the town. They let him be himself without snarky comments as he walked by. Lance put up a cogent facade and pretended that nothing ever bothered him. He made his way towards the building, struggling to push aside the bulky doors with a book in his hand. The fact that Lance was considerably weak and lanky didn't help either.

The doors shut behind Lance with a loud thud, grabbing the attention of the old man who was busying himself by dusting the building. The man turned, a wide smile stretching across his aging face.

"Lance, Lance, _salut_! Back already?" He slowly ambled down the stairs, heading towards a small shelf with few books on it, as rarely anyone bothered to read. "You go through books like seasons, boy!" He let out a hearty laugh. This man was almost like a second father to him. Besides his actual father, this man, Pierre, was the only one who understood that books aren't just time wasted.

Lance chuckled, his long fingers fondling the edges of the book he was holding. " _Oui, monsieur_! I loved this book, but I was currently looking for a different genre..." His eyes searched the spines and titles of the books as his fingers brushed past the titles

"Romance?" The old man asked. "You've already read all of these books, but you have not read Romeo and Juliet recently."

Lance's ocean blue eyes sparkled with mirth. " _Oui, oui_! That's exactly what I was looking for!" His eyes slanted in mock suspicion. "You're not a mind reader, are you, Pierre?"

Pierre let out a bark of laughter. "Lance, you read too many fantasies! You silly boy..." He shook his head, and a momentary silence entered the room.

Lance, noticing that the conversation was coming to an end, started to make his way to the doors. " _Merci_ , Pierre. These books help me escape this boring old town. _A_ _dieu_ , Pierre!" He slipped out of the small library already opening his book.

"If only I really could get out of here... this tiny nook of the world... imagine all of the places I could see..." He muttered. He could go to Italy, Spain! He could see the snow up north, experience the scorching heat down south! But he couldn't. He couldn't leave. His father needed him, and he loved his family. Lance was a bird in a cage, trapped. But the door to the cage was open, beckoning Lance to see the world outside of this town he hasn't stepped a foot out of. Yet still, he was trapped, for a string tied himself to home. It wasn't time to cut that string, not yet. He began to make his way back home, his thoughts soon stopping gradually as he was transported into the Shakespearean era.

Inattentive as to where he was walking, Lance managed to suddenly stumble into someone. Immediately closing his book, Lance became a stuttering mess as he tried to apologize.

"No need to apologize to me, Lance," said a deep, pretentious voice. Lance recognized it immediately and groaned as he looked up to see the face that belonged to the voice. The man was very tall, taller than Lance, with bulging muscles under his tight black shirt. He had a mop of messy black hair with a burst of white in the front. Even his eyes themselves where cold and black, with a sense of mischief in them. Across his nose was a scar, it's cause unknown to everyone but the man himself. Next to him was his best friend, his partner-in-crime, although the man mainly just used him. Slightly chubby and dressed in yellow, this other man's name was Hunk. "You can bump into me any time," The man winked at Lance.

Lance groaned again. "Go away, Shiro. I'm trying to get home, if you'd get out of my way." Lance glared daggers at Shiro, who simply laughed, a deep rumble in his chest.

Shiro glanced down at the book Lance held and scoffed. "Seriously, another book, Lance?" He reached down and grabbed the book from Lance, who gasped and grappled at Shiro's arms to get it back. Avoiding Lance's futile attempts, Shiro opened the book and laughed. "How can you read this with no pictures?" He shook his head. "You need to start focusing on more important things..."

Lance grunted. "Like what? You?" He made one more swipe at Shiro, who easily dodged the flailing hand.

Shiro laughed cruelly. "Exactly!" He tossed the book in the mud, causing a yelp from Lance. Lance dove to the ground to salvage what was left of the ruined book, cursing Shiro.

"Say, Lance," he smirked. "How about accompanying me to the tavern tonight for a drink, maybe to look at my many hunting trophies? Better than sitting at home with a book, right?"

Lance scoffed. Was he really that stupid? "Maybe some other time, Shiro."

Women nearby let out a gasp as they eavesdropped on their conversation, muttering to each other astonishingly. Lance turned down Takashi Shirogane? The most handsome man in town, with riches they knew Lance desperately needed. Shiro seemed to brush aside every girl that pined after him, every attempt a woman made to get his attention. His eye's were always on Lance.

"How could he do that?" Asked one woman. "That's Shiro. Handsome, rich, how could someone be so foolish as to turn him down? Especially that poor boy, Lance. He could use a fortune!" Others nodded in agreement, whispering about how gorgeous Shiro is, how Lance is such a fool.

"Please, Shiro," Lance stepped around him to continue walking home. "I have to get home to help my father."

Hunk finally spoke, cackling. "That crazy old man could use all the help he can get!" Shiro snickered at his comment, covering his mouth with his hand.

Lance gasped in bewilderment, looking between Shiro and Hunk. "How dare you speak of my father that way! He's not crazy! He's a genius! Smarter than a buffoon like you!"

Shiro stopped laughing and smacked Hunk in the head. "Yeah, Hunk, don't speak of her father that way, you fool!" Hunk glared at Shiro, and the two bickered as Lance chose this moment to rush home. By the time Shiro noticed Lance had ran away, it was too late. He glared at Lance's figure in the distance.

"Shiro, come on. You can get any other boy or girl in this town. Plenty of them wouldn't be as foolish as Lance. I'm telling you, you're wasting your time!" Hunk said.

Shiro almost growled, his eyes becoming ferocious, hungry, like a wild animal. "I will get his hand in marriage, Hunk! There's no one else..."

Lance slowed down, fussily cleaning his book as he walked up the steps of his porch. "That stupid Shiro..." He knew how Shiro felt, he wasn't blind. He pushed open the door, walking into the small yet snug house. The first room upon entering the house was the kitchen. A small table sat in the center with two wooden chairs pushed in. There was a small stove next to a counter. Cooking equipment hung over the counter top. There was a small sink in the corner.

Lance, at the thought of him marrying someone like Shiro, snorted. He grabbed a nearby apron, swirling it around his waist. Lance mocked a feminine voice as he leaned against the table. "Oh, Shiro, darling! Let me make you your food, I'm sure you've had a hard day being oh, so hardworking!" He laughed, throwing aside the apron, his voice returning to normal. "Yeah, that'll be the day." Next to the kitchen was a door leading to his father's workshop. Lance slowly trailed his fingers along the furniture as he walked by. He leaned against the door frame of his father's workshop, and saw the old man sitting inside. His father, Maurice, had balding hair with two white puffs on the sides of his head. His small, tiny glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose but were pushed back up with the back of his hand. Maurice was working with a tiny machine, a small windmill. Inside of the windmill was a mother, rocking a small baby boy in her lap. Beside her was the father at an easel. On the canvas, the father was painting a picture of the woman, and the small family seemed loving and content. This was the windmill of Lance's childhood, where baby Lance cooed inside of his mother's lap. A smile tugged at the corners of Lance's mouth.

Maurice still did not notice Lance standing by the door. Lance raised a hand to his mouth a let out a mock cough to get his attention. Maurice looked up from the miniature windmill that seemed to be malfunctioning and smiled lovingly.

"Lance, my boy! _Salut_! Come here, son, help me with this," Maurice said, waving his hand in a gesture that told Lance to come closer. Lance straightened from the door frame and traipsed toward his father. He gazed at the gears and wheels inside the bottom of the windmill, the gears in his own brain starting up to figure out what was wrong with the windmill. Maurice had raised him with his own knowledge of tools and machinery. "Let's see, I need a--" Before Maurice could finish, Lance handed him a tool. "Yes, yes, exactly that. Thank you, Lance," he said. "So, where were you?"

"I went to the library to get another book, Papa," Lance said. Maurice hummed as a response, his hands busily turning and twisting the gears. Lance paused, hesitating to speak what he was thinking. Maurice looked up from the windmill, noticing the look on his son's face. He furrowed his eyebrows in concern.

"Lance? What's wrong?"

"Papa, do you think I'm... odd?" Lance asked after a moment of unnerving silence. Maurice chuckled slightly and his hands stopped working.

"Odd? Where did you get such an absurd idea?" Lance sighed.

"I-I don't know, it's just that... I don't really fit in here, I guess. At least, that's what they all say. There's no one I can talk to," He looked down, ashamed of himself.

"Listen to this, Lance," Maurice leaned on his elbows, staring up at his son intently. "Your mother used to be just like you. She loved books, oh, how she loved them. But the town treated her as an outcast. She grew up to be such a fine and successful woman, so they were all jealous of her, in the end. Don't let those fools discourage you from being who you are. I say you keep reading, and don't you ever stray from the path that you choose."

Lance cracked a small smile, but frowned in inquisition. "Papa, won't you tell me about... what happened to mother?"

Maurice's smile faltered, his eyes cast down towards the windmill. With trembling hands, he adjusted his glasses and picked up a tool. "No, Lance. Not-not until the time is right."

Lance sighed again, brushing his fingers against the sawdust that sat on the table. His father was still struggling, he knew that. His mother's death was ever-present in their lives, even though Lance was only an infant when it happened. If Maurice needed time, Lance would give him just that."Alright, Papa."

Maurice mumbled, his hands returning to the windmill. Without looking up, he responded, "Well, don't you worry, my boy, I'm going to that grand fair. With everything I've got to sell, we're going to have the start of a new life." At those words, Lance heard a click in the windmill, and the tiny mill began to move. Maurice's eyes sparkled. "See? Even your mother agrees." He stood from the table, picking up the windmill. "Hitch up Philippe, boy. Off to the fair!"

Maurice practically galloped out of the door with excitement. Lance let his hand drop from the table and fall to the side as he followed Maurice to the stables.

Philippe was a beautiful, stark white stallion with gray patches over his body. His mane was a luscious silver, waving in the wind. At the sight of Lance and Maurice, he kicked up his hooves excitedly and threw his head back, neighing. Lance laughed as he stroked Philippe's mane.

"Wo-oah, boy!" Lance exclaimed, leaving Philippe's side to fetch the saddle and stirrups. Maurice piled his inventions and belongings onto a wooden cart, grunting when he was finally done. Lance took Philippe by the reins and guided him over to the cart, fastening him to it. Maurice climbed up onto the little seat, barely big enough to support Maurice's fairly large and fat body. Lance leaned against the side of the seat against his arms.

"Papa?" He asked. "Could you bring me another one?"

The corners of Maurice's eyes crinkled as he chuckled. " _Oui, oui_ , my boy. I'll get you another fine white rose. The most beautiful one in the forest, don't you worry!" Lance smiled, his worries suppressed. Maurice looked off onto the road with a face of sheer determination. He flicked the reins, and Philippe began to move.

"Giddy-up, Philippe! Onward!" Maurice waved a goodbye to Lance without turning around. Lance waved back, even though Maurice couldn't see it.

He clutched a fist to his chest with worry. "Stay safe, Papa..." He whispered, almost like a prayer to whatever God there might be. Nothing could assuage the hole of worry Lance felt, ever present in his chest.


	2. The Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maurice heads off to the fair, but ends up in quite a different place. Chased by wolves, he ends up in a seemingly deserted castle, abandoned by Philippe. He meets Allura, Coran, Matt and Pidge. Unfortunately, he also meets the great beast. Hauled off into the dungeon, Maurice never returns to the town. Lance begins to worry, and he sets off after his father.

Thunder crashed dangerously near Maurice, whose hands trembled as they grasped Philippe's reins. The man and steed were surrounded by a foreign forest, only accompanied by the hoot of an owl or the sound of a stick snapping beneath an animal's foot. Rain pelted everything in sight, fortunately unable to reach Maurice's valuables on the cart, which were covered to protect it. The cold was very unexpected, especially for July. It seemed like just seconds ago the rain that crashed around them was warm. Even so, icy wind came like daggers, piercing through Maurice's jacket, if the rag wrapped around him could even be considered a jacket. The horse jumped on its hind legs at the sound of rumbling thunder, neighing, his eyes wide in terror. Maurice tried to the best of his ability to calm the stallion so that nothing fell out of the cart. He looked around frantically at his surroundings, everything unfamiliar. He had never been on this path, he was sure of it. 

"Philippe," his voice shook. "I do believe that we are lost. M-maybe we should turn around, try to find our way back. It's much too cold for an old man like me." His entire body trembled from the cold, but Philippe snorted in disapproval, stamping his feet in response. He pulled the cart forward, not turning around like Maurice had suggested. "A-alright. I guess we should keep going. After all, we might find shelter, somewhere warm or dry." Maurice flicked the reins, signaling for Philippe to continue. The white horse sped up gradually, uneasy from the lightning and thunder.  

A bolt of lightning crashed only feet away from them, causing Maurice to yelp in terror. It had struck a nearby tree, which began to crack and fall. Philippe ran as far as he could before Maurice yanked on the reins, commanding him to stop. Maurice looked back, noticing a path that the fallen tree had created. Their current path was only leading them to nowhere, so Maurice began to consider to follow this new path. It was obviously manmade, but weeds began to grow around the edges, showing its lack of use.  

Maurice held his head high in determination, even though he knew it was probably a useless attempt. "Well, you know what they say, Philippe. A path is meant to be followed!" He tugged on the reins, pulling Philippe to turn around and trot down the opened path.  

The sun was setting, and in the distance he could see the moon slowly taking the place of the sun. They made their way down the path until Maurice could see a building in the distance. His face let lit up with excitement as he flicked the reins, encouraging Philippe to go faster. "Come on, Philippe! There's a place to dry off ahead. Giddy-up, boy, giddy-up!" Philippe began to go faster, but neighed with unease. Maurice could tell that the horse could sense danger and looked around him with fear.  

A growl from behind Maurice confirmed their fright, and he looked behind him to see a savage wolf. The gray wolf had a scar across one eye, his teeth bared and his hair sticking up. Maurice was frozen in shock and fear. Around him, other wolves stepped out from behind the trees and bushes, baring their teeth. The one with the gnarly scar was obviously the alpha of the pack. The alpha bent the front half of his body lower towards the ground in a position that could mean one thing: he was about to attack. Philippe jumped onto his hind legs, neighing furiously. He took off in a sprint, the cart crashing behind him before breaking off. The windmill of Lance's childhood fell out, unnoticed by Maurice. It shattered upon impact with the ground. The wolf pounced, his yellow eyes winded with a sense of animalistic hunger. Other wolves running beside them howled, snapping their jaws at Maurice's legs. Maurice let out a terrified scream. Phillipe took a sharp, unexpected turn, only losing the wolves momentarily. Maurice was unable to keep his hold on Philippe and fell off.  

"Philippe!" He shouted, getting off the ground. "Please, come back!" He heard a growl, and turned to see the alpha wolf standing far behind him. Maurice desperately ran towards the castle that was fortunately close. The wolves sprinted after him, catching up. They snapped at Maurice's heels, and one was able to sink his teeth into the man's flesh. Maurice yelped in pain, yanking his leg away from the wolf. He came upon the gates of the castle, panting as he ran into the garden in the entrance. 

As soon as the man stepped foot beyond the gates, the wolves slowed and stopped, their tails pressing between their legs and their ears flattened against their heads. A few whimpered as the alpha turned to head back in the other direction, the others shortly following. The air had gotten colder, much too cold for July. The old man swore he saw snowflakes falling from the cluster of dark, foreboding clouds looming above. He blamed his imagination as he leaned against a stone pillar for support, gasping for air. He looked down at his bleeding ankles, wincing as he touched it. He teared off a piece of his jacket, wrapping it around the open wound as a makeshift bandage. In the garden, he noticed a bush filled with beautiful white roses, exactly what Lance had asked for. 

Lance was the sun in Maurice's life. He loved that boy more than anything in the world, and his love for the young boy seemed to mask the pain as he slowly made his way towards the roses. He reached up to the biggest, most magnificent rose in the bloom, struggling to avoid the thorns as he removed the rose. Maurice placed the rose into his tiny pouch with care. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself as a gust of strong wind blew into the garden. Maurice ambled out of the garden heading towards the grand doors that marked the entrance to the castle.  

The exterior of the castle was a dirtied white, vines spiraling around the drum towers, snaking into cracks and crevices. It was magnificent, fit for a royal family. The two grand doors were large and bulky, a struggle to open when you only have one foot to use as support. Maurice shoved the doors open with a grunt, and the sound of them slamming shut echoed throughout the castle. 

The interior of the castle was dark, only lit by a fire dancing and crackling in the fire space and a small Candle stick with two arms branching out of the center. Cloths and curtains covered pictures, glass was shattered in multiple places. Random objects, some broken, lay in odd spots. On one table was the candlestick and a tiny clock, and Maurice might have seen a flicker of movement from them. He shook his head, ridding his head of foolish thoughts.  

He looked up towards the staircase. "H-Hello? Is anyone there?" His voice bounced around the walls, echoing. When no response came, he called out again. "If you don't mind, I was looking for shelter and would like to stay here for the time being," his voice boomed again, but there was no reply. Shrugging, Maurice limped towards the fireplace, the warmth luring him to collapse in the chair. He sighed, his thoughts drifting to how Lance was faring without him. Soon, he was fast asleep. 

A loud thump woke him up with a startled noise. He looked around the castle, yet there was no one in sight. "Hello?" His voice shook, afraid. He stood from the couch, wrapping its blanket around him. Maurice shrugged off the noise, distracted by a loud rumble coming from his stomach. "Oh, my," he said to himself.  "How long has it been since I've had a decent meal?"  

With the motivation from his stomach, the old man made his way around the castle in search for a kitchen or dining room. He picked up the candlestick so he could see where he was stepping.  As he was walking, a wonderful scent filled his nose. Food was nearby, and the smell made his mouth water. He followed the scent to its source: a dining room with a large table filled with food. Roasted turkey, potatoes, all you could ever dream of was sitting, waiting on the table. Maurice licked his lips, plopping down onto a chair. He was about to dig in when he heard a voice. 

" _B-bonjour,_ _monsieur,_ " came the small voice. Maurice jumped in his seat and stood from the table, whipping his head to look for the source of the voice.  

"Who said that? Where are you?" Maurice's voice trembled slightly, afraid. 

"Down here," came the voice once more. Maurice looked down at the table to notice a small teacup _looking up at him_. With eyes, a mouth, and the handle which seemed to be a nose. Maurice stared in shock. "My name's Pidge. Matt told me not to talk, 'cause I might scare you. It's just been so long since anyone else came here, y'know. Who are you?"  

Instead of answering, Maurice took several steps back and rubbed his eyes. He shook his head with his eyes clenched shut. "This-this is a dream. Teacups can't talk, you old fool," he scolded himself. Slowly, he opened his eyes. But still, the wide-eyed teacup was still staring intently at him.  

"Pidge!" Another startling voice came from the table, and Maurice could see that the tea kettle seemed to be alive as well. "What did I tell you? I said _not_  to frighten the guest, you moron!" The kettle practically _hopped_  over to the small teacup, who looked down, ashamed. 

"Sorry, Matt," Pidge apologized. The teacup looked back up at Maurice, whose jaw went slack. "Sorry for scaring you, _monsieur_ ," Pidge said politely. Matt seemed to shake his head, if he had one, but his mouth smiled fondly at the tiny teacup. Maurice started to notice other everyday objects around the room come to life as well. The candlestick he was carrying moments ago strode over to Matt and Pidge. It bowed, using the branched limbs of the candlestick as arms. In the center, Maurice noticed a miniscule face as well. The candlestick was gold with beautiful craftsmanship. Maurice marveled at its beauty. 

" _Bonjour_ _,_ _monsieur,_ how do you do? My name is Allura, and this," she gestured to the old clock that had found its way onto the table, "is Coran, _mon ami_. How can we be of service today?" 

Maurice was at a loss for words. "I-I, uh – w-was just -" he stumbled. 

The old clock was finely crafted as well, much like most of the objects around the castle. In the center were two eyes and a mouth, the hands of the clock serving as his mustache, it seemed. He grumbled to Allura, quietly, but Maurice could still hear some of his words. "I'm telling you, Allura, this is a bad idea!" he hissed. "If the Master finds out about this, there's no telling what he will do!" Allura waved him off, smiling at Coran.  

"I will deal with it, you old clock. Besides, the Mas-" she was interrupted by a loud banging noise coming from outside. This startled Maurice as well, who jumped back several steps. Near the doorway, a large figure stood in the shadows. Maurice could not see it too well because of the dark, but he noticed that the living objects on the table seemed to be somewhat frightened. Pidge hid behind her older brother, and Coran, though afraid, sent a quick glare at Allura that screamed ' _I told you so_ '.  

The figure behind the shadows made no effort to step into the light. His voice boomed and echoed as he shouted, " _Who_ is _this_?!"  

Allura took a step forward, waving her 'arms'. "Your Highness," she said. "I can explain-" 

"I was soaked through from the rain," Maurice interrupted. "My horse had ran away and I had nowhere to go. I stumbled upon your castle and was wondering if I could stay the night, or until the rain lets out." 

The beast snarled, unseen yet heard. "You want to stay the night?" He spat. "I know a place where you can stay." With one swift motion, he stepped into the room and hauled Maurice off into the depths of the castle. Maurice's cry of surprise and fright bounced about the walls of the deserted castle.

 

 

 

 

Unaware of his father's disappearance, Lance strolled along the busy streets of this town. He sat down by a small bench near the fountain and opened his book. Before he could begin to read, he decided to rest his head on the back of the bench, closing his eyes. He loved sitting by the fountain, listening to the sounds of rushing water. Oh, how Lance adored the water. His father used to take him on trips to the sea when he was a child. Just listening to the sound of the spouting streams colliding with the pool of water at the bottom of the fountain eased his worries. It made it easier for him to ignore the snickering of men nearby, ignore his problems and insecurities. The sound of the splashing water transported him to the days when he was a child, playing in the water, laughing giddily. Lance smiled absentmindedly at the memory. He opened his eyes once more, and they trailed down to look at the words printed on the old, ripping pages.  

Not even three words into the story, Lance's reading was interrupted by a small child tugging at the side of his shirt. He closed the book and placed it next to him as he looked at the child. The small girl had fair blonde hair, tied into small pigtails that bounced as he pulled herself up to sit in the bench. She was wearing a white and blue dress, swinging along with her legs as she looked at Lance inquisitively.  

"My name's Camille. Whatcha doin'?" Came the high pitched voice. She stared curiously at the book. Lance followed her eyes to the book and picked it up, holding it out for her to see. 

"I'm reading a book." 

Her nose scrunched. "Mama tells me I shouldn't read. She says reading isn't for girls, that girls need to focus on doing stuff like cleaning. Mama never let me go to school," she said. 

Lance chuckled. "A lot of parents think that way, Camille. But listen to this," he leaned forward and her eyes widened like he was about to tell her a secret. "If you want to read, Camille, you can pick up a book and try to learn. Never let your mama keep you from doing what you want to do. You got that?" 

" _Oui_ , _monsieur_ ," she nodded. "Can you teach me? How to read?"  

Lance smiled and opened the book, going over the alphabet with her. She stumbled across the letters, and Lance smiled fondly at the little girl. They sat there for around ten minutes until a woman, presumably Camille's mother, yelled for her to come back inside. Camille slid off the bench and said her goodbyes to Lance. 

"Will you teach me some other time? Please?" She pleaded with him. Lance smiled and nodded his head. He turned her around and gave her a gentle push toward the direction of her mother. She ran to her mother, who put her hand on the girl's back and guided her back inside the little house.  

Lance stood, book in hand, and began to make his way back home. When he neared the house, he saw a white shape in the distance, by the trail Maurice went on. As it came closer, Lance could make out the shape of a horse. It galloped to Lance, neighing furiously, his eyes wide with terror. Maurice was not on the horse. The book slowly slipped from Lance's grasp and fell onto the ground as Lance realized, in shock, that his father had gone missing.  

Lance ran to Philippe, grasping his rains. "Where's Papa? Where is he?" He frantically searched for an answer in the horse's eyes but found nothing. Clenching his teeth, Lance made a decision. He swung one leg over Philippe's back and hooked his feet into the stirrups. With a quick 'hiya!' And the flick of the reins, Lance was riding off into the distance on the trail that Maurice once went down. Abandoned, the book lay quietly in the soft grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two has arrived! Thank you for all of your comments and kudos! I really appreciate them, as they encourage me to write more. Spring Break has arrived for my school, and for the later half of this week I will be in other states. Shout out to the people in Virgina! During those days, I will be unfortunately unable to work on Chapter 3. However, I will try to work my ass off during those weeks prior to get as much done as I can. Thank you for your patience.  
> ~ Gil


	3. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Philippe travel to the castle where the Beast held Maurice captive. Desperate to save his father, his only family, he trades his freedom for his father's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since I last updated. Longer than I'd like. Unfortunately, I am sick. I feel horrible. So sorry if this chapter is short or whatever.
> 
> ~Gil

Philippe took Lance on the path his father went down. Slowly, the path through the woods started to become less and less familiar. Along with the change in familiarity came change in weather. The weather sluggishly turned colder and colder, so cold that Lance could see snow falling from the dark, cloudy sky. This made no sense. It was the middle of summer, and it was snowing? Lance shook the thoughts out of his head and focused on finding his father. 

Winding down the long, deserted path, Lance felt himself slowly nodding off to the soft and steady rhythm of Philippe's hooves. As his eyes began to close, something very familiar caught his eye. Sitting on the side of the dirt road was a smashed figurine. Lance's eyes snapped open, and he tugged on the horse's reins to bring him to a steady halt. Lance swung one leg over Philipe's back, gracefully sweeping  down onto the floor. He held the broken pieces in his hand until his mind clicked with recognition. This was the windmill his father had been working on before he left. This was the windmill of Lance's childhood.

"What...what did this?" he placed the pieces of the small windmill back where they originally lay. "Papa...where are you?" he looked up to the dark, overcast sky as a silent tear found its way down Lance's cheek, moving along a path down Lance's sharp facial features and cheekbone. It found its way to his chin, and it dripped down onto the windmill.

A new form of worry and urgency grabbed at his heart with a fearsome grip. He leaped from the ground, springing towards something new that caught his attention. Not far beyond the smashed windmill was the cart that carried all of his father's possessions he was going to sell. Lance's blue eyes darkened, his eyebrows furrowing. Something terrible must have happened to Maurice.

With this new thought pounding in Lances head, he grabbed onto Philippe's reins and swung himself onto the stallion. "Come on, Philippe! Take me to Father!" he cried as he tugged on the reins. Philippe neighed, galloping towards the castle that was barely visible from the distance. "Hiya, Philippe! Faster!" Lance's voice carried through the air, almost sounding like a battle cry as the knight and steed weaved through trees and around bushes. 

Not long after, they came across the gate. Philippe slowed, indicating to the boy that this was it. Lance gently removed himself from the horse, creating footprints in the snowy ground. He pulled the hood from his cape up until it fell just above his forehead. He placed his head on Philippe's and whispered a 'thank you' before heading beyond the foreboding gates. He stalked past the garden in the entrance and noticed red spots on the snowy white ground. Blood. Maurice's. Lance pushed the heavy doors open, heading inside of the towering, luminous castle. He entered slowing, taking in the sight before him, letting it absorb before he looked right and left for any sign of his lost father.

Lance did not notice the candlestick and clock on the same table they originally stood when Maurice entered. Allura whispered to the clock, "Look, Coran! A boy!" 

Coran responded with the same hushed tone, but laced with sarcasm, "Yes, I can see it is a boy."

"But what if he is the one?" Coran glanced at Allura questionably. "The one who will break the spell!"

Before Coran could respond to the candlestick's remark, gasps were heard throughout the castle. Maurice's gasps.

"Help me!" a voice cried, echoing on the walls. Lance's head whipped toward the source of the voice, and he did not hesitate before bounding up the staircase. The boy took large steps up the stairs, skipping every other step before he came to the top and saw it. A cage. Inside the rusted metal bars stood his father. The man's hands gripped the bars tightly, knuckles turning white. "Lance!" he gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Lance gripped the bars, looking for a key to the lock on the cage as he responded, "Philippe took me here. What happened, Papa? Who is keeping you captive?"

"Lance, listen to me, son. You need to leave right now. Forget about me. Leave before he finds you.  _Go!_ " Maurice tried to push Lance away, but the brave boy would not budge.

"No! I'm not leaving you!" Lance's voice quivered slightly with concern. "Who is doing this?"

Before the old man could reply, a thundering voice shouted from nearby, "Your father is a  _thief!_ He deserves to be behind those bars!"

Lance turned his head to face the giant figure that stood in the shadows. "My father is  _not_ a thief! What did he steal?"

"A rose from my garden," the voice responded, not any more gentle than before. "I give you one warning. You can leave now, or you will join him!"

Lance gasped. The rose...that was the one he asked for. He was responsible for this. "I asked for that rose! It's my fault, not his! Punish me, not him!"

Maurice looked at his son, his eyes reflecting the unspoken message.  _Don't do this. Leave!_ But Lance did exactly the opposite. He turned toward the figure, his head held high in confidence, not a trace of fear in his expression. "Come into the light," he commanded the figure. 

The sight before him as the figure came into vision was breathtaking. The figure did not seem to be human, despite his human voice and language. He was more animalistic rather than human, with thick, purple fur and glowing yellow eyes. Atop his head sat two cat-like ears, twitching at various noises. Extending from his body were two large, strong arms with giant purple paws at the end. Each finger was armed with sharp black claws, completing the fearsome look.

Lance did not show any signs of fear towards the beast. "So you lock him up for stealing what, a simple rose? What importance could a rose have?"

The beast snarled, showing his fangs. "A rose has more importance than you think, you fool! Now go! Leave!"

Lance let his head drop before lifting it back up with pleading eyes. "Please, just let me have a moment alone with him. Don't you have any sympathy in your heart to let a son say goodbye to his father?"

With a grunt, the beast opened the door to the cage. "You have one minute. Once this door closes, it will not open again!" Lance gratefully stepped inside the cage, embracing his father. 

Lance whispered a few words into Maurice's ear. "I will escape. I promise." Lifting his head, he gazed at Maurice's discombobulated expression with a loving smile before pushing his father out of the cage and slamming the door shut with him inside. 

"Lance!" Maurice gasped. "What on Earth do you think you're doing?" But Lance gave no reply. He was still softly smiling, a tear rolling down his cheek.

The beast looked at the boy who gave up his freedom for his father's. He had never seen anyone do something as courageous for their family. The beast, once more revealing his fangs, said, "You have made your choice. Now," his gaze shifted to the trembling old man, "leave before I force you away! Go!" Maurice sent an apologetic glance toward his son. Lance smiled an nodded in response, signaling for him to leave. Maurice hesitantly took a step away, tearing his eyes from his son's and limping down the stairs.

The beast turned and left in the direction from which he came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know, it's a short chapter, sorry. I hope you like it, though. That's about it, so, uh, see you next chapter.
> 
> ~Gil

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's that! There will be more chapters to come, I promise. I'll probably do one chapter per week. Kudos and comments, please! You're the thing that keeps these chapters coming! You can write reviews or suggestions if you'd like, I'd really appreciate it. I'm also looking for an editor, maybe like a co-writer? If you'd like to, you could contact me through Instagram by @hetalia.vids!
> 
> See you next chapter!
> 
> ~Gil


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